


not in this universe, not in this timeline

by Of the League (Serpyre)



Series: The Canary and the Demon [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: ... i'll write an actual nyssappiness, Angst, Episode: s01e14 River of Time, F/F, Malcolm Merlyn is a Douchebag, Mild canon divergence, Nyssappiness, Nyssara, Prequel, even i am surprised, eventually, inner thoughts, like wow, much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpyre/pseuds/Of%20the%20League
Summary: ''... but how could I love someone like you, if you're so monstrous as you say?''Prequel to ''never leaving you again''. (1x14)





	not in this universe, not in this timeline

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by countless Nyssara fics, most particularly by pleasanthell and IrredeemableCanary's fics. (I apologise in advance if you don't want to be noted, but I felt it only fair if there was some sort of credit)
> 
> Be sure to check them out, their stories are amazing reads.

She heard the almost inaudible creak of her cell door as it was opened, then closed again. She heard the familiar tone of Arabic, and a so painfully familiar voice that almost made her gasp for breath. But it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Her Beloved was dead. Perhaps not in person, no, but her soul… her soul was empty. The only thing that remained was the cragged husk of a person that possessed the hollow body of her Beloved. That was it. She was feral, a wild _animal_. Nothing else.

However, she couldn't pretend that the hitch her in breath or the jolt in her heart or the blurry and misty tears that brewed over her eyes or pretend that the gasp wasn't there.

 _''Leave us.''_ The familiarity of her Beloved's voice made her heart ache, but _no_. She stopped herself from approaching her. She wasn't… she wasn't _her_. But her sound, her voice, her appearance, her face and her looks were all _her_ … but the soul inside wasn't.

But she was scared. This… this form of her Beloved wasn't her, but… but she still loved her. She couldn't deny that, and she was _afraid_ because she still loved her after all this time and this… _this_ thing, this Sara wasn't her _Sara_ … but yet, she still loved her. That was what scared her the most. That was what made her afraid. She still loved her— loved whatever incarnation of Sara, loved all incarnations of Sara— even after all this time, even after how she insisted to herself, in her mind that she had gotten over Sara, told herself that Ta-er al-Sahfer had moved on, demanded herself to forget her Beloved and live life as it is, in the League; _pleaded_ to the gods for Sara to be happy whenever she was, and silently pleaded for herself to _get over_ Ta-er al-Sahfer, quietly pleaded for herself to stop caring, to stop _loving…_ the love still persisted.

Her Beloved was standing in front of her. Her breathing was labored, heavy. _No. This wasn't possible._ This was not her Beloved. This… this was a monster, with her Beloved's body. This wasn't her Beloved. This was a hollow carcass that held the face and quirks and characteristics of her Beloved, the one that held the face of her dead lover (and that fact made the dull ache that she had silenced for so long hurt once more), but was without a soul.

She closed her eyes. Avoiding the bleak truth. _No, this wasn't possible._ That monster can't be here. This was just another cruel trick of Malcolm's. Yes, that must be it. She couldn't have thought of any explanation otherwise.

 _Unless…_ A flutter of hope that she had avoided for so long, silenced and hated for so long ignited in her heart. Unless…

_No. That is not possible. Her soul is long gone, and her body will be, too. This thing was just that… a thing. Her soul cannot be restored. This is not her._

_But…_ Against her own will, the flicker of hope persisted.

 _No!_ Silence. _She is no longer with us in this world. Her soul is_ ** _dead_** _._ She almost flinched at the realization. _This is Malcolm Merlyn's doing, and I will see it undone._

Finally, she opened her eyes. But she averted her eyes from that _impostor…_ It was too much. If this was some sort of cruel joke of Malcolm's, then she couldn't handle it. Had Malcolm brought her down here to make a point? If he did, then she didn't need to see it for herself to know. _You can't handle ever knowing that she, your beloved is still alive, but no longer yours._ Malcolm's voice taunted in her mind.

She was Heir and rightfully the Head, but _she_ was her weakness. She knew that, all along. But she persisted. She didn't care about the consequences. And now… and now

The impostor was staring at her, her eyes misty and brimming with… was that…? No. It couldn't be. She didn't look wild nor feral no more, but she couldn't be so easily tricked. This was Malcolm's doing, and if he wanted to torture her? Fine. But invoking emotions, involving her Beloved with it? She couldn't. Her father's words echoed in her mind. _''She is no more than a weakness, my Heir. You are a fool to love her, because eventually, she will break your heart, mark my words…''_

She was dead, and her soul was no more. She was no longer alive, and even if she was, it was not her. ''Have you come to torture me, for that you behold the face of someone I once cared for?''

Sara— No. The _thing_ shook its head. ''No. It's me, Nyssa.'' Her own eyes widened a fraction as she recalled the voice that she had blissfully desired in her dreams, only for it to be snatched away from her and leave her heart pounding and out of breath in the midst of her sanctuary that was also her prison.

''Not possible.'' she managed to croak. ''The Sara I knew was long dead. You are not her. You cannot be her. You are only a shell of a person that she used to be. You only wear her face, and you are sent here by Malcolm's. You will not deceive me.'' She growled, throwing out pointless accusations, trying to keep this conversation far from her heart. But her Canary had been known to fly its way into her heart. She didn't know who she was trying to convince; Sara, or herself.

Instead of speaking, the _thing_ walked towards her, and brushing her hand against her cheek, she forced her to stare at her in the eye with a jerk of her hand. Instead of looking away, she found herself mesmerized. She was staring into eyes that were no longer wild or feral, eyes that did not belong to wild Sara but _Sara_.

''… Sara, is that truly you?'' She couldn't help it. _Her Beloved, alive and well and feral no longer..._ She couldn't keep the false linger of _hope_ away from her voice, as the flicker of hope she had avoided, despised, _hated_ for so long, because all it did was torment her mind relentlessly with _hope_ for something that could never happen, could never be true.

''I-I thought you were dead,'' she breathed out, wonder in her voice— but she now averted Sara's gaze, afraid of what she might find, afraid of what she might she thought true, what she hoped, believed to be proven false and the walls that had stood rooted firmly to the stone cold floor be broken by her Canary once more.

''Yes, Nyssa. I'm okay. I'm alive and _you_ will be fine, _you_ will be okay and I will get you _out of here_.'' She stated firmly, so firmly that made her almost believe it herself. Sara took an outwards glance towards the guards that stood positioned beside her cell door, tactics undoubtedly running through her mind as she contemplated the ways she could get her out of her isolation.

Nyssa tried for a genuine smile, but it fell flat once Sara took notice of her averting gaze. Her determined gaze softened and fell as the fire that burned feverishly in the pyres of her blue orbs relented, if only for a second.

''What's wrong?'' Sometimes, she wished that her Beloved didn't know her so well. She didn't do _Are you alright's_ or _You okay's?,_ when she clearly knew that it wasn't. And as much as she hated to say, as much as she loathed to admit— because, being the Demon's Heir, being raised by a leader and taught with her father's methods— if she learned anything, then it was to make sure the situation was controlled, keep the players and opponents in the line, and most importantly, not letting your emotions be clouded by your judgement.

She had failed all the core rules, defied her father and left for her Beloved, letting emotions cloud her judgment… and here she was, married to an outsider, stuck in a dungeon in her own walls, the murderer of her Beloved stealing her rightful title.

In a low tone, she responded. ''This is not your fight, _Ta-er al-Sahfer_. You will leave this place far behind. You will leave this place, you will move on, and you will forget me. Live a life unburdened by your past, my Canary.'' She wanted to say that she had moved on as well, tell her that she shouldn't care for her any longer, but the awful pain in her chest only spiked as she spoke, the hollow, gaping hole that was left in her chest after her Beloved's death only widening furtherer, gnawing at the edges for something that was long gone,  _yearning_. It hurt even more than the day Sara died, and now Sara was here but it _hurt even more_ , because she was letting her go.

''I don't care. I will get you out of here, and neither you or they can stop me,'' she said, eyeing the guards resentfully that were situated outside.

She chuckled humourlessly, scoffing half-heartedly and eyeing her Beloved meaningfully. ''But you forget. I am the Demon. This is my expected punishment, trapped under the dungeons of Nanda Parbat. The retribution for my crimes.''

Sara shook her head, tried to reach out to Nyssa once more, but she took a step back, face impassive but Sara could see the cold glint in her misty eyes.

''I remind you of the killing so much. You see me as the embodiment of your sorrow. I am your embodiment of the death, the killing, the League and your past life. It is understandable that you would want nothing more than to leave me.''

Sara flinched. She outspread her hands in an effort to confront Nyssa, opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but no words left her mouth. Nyssa only took another step back, her gaze not meeting her eyes.

''You act virtuously and you defend the innocent. You apprehend killers and give them the fate that they deserve. I am a murderer, Sara. I slaughter without a second thought. I am the _Demon_ , Sara. Is this not what you wanted?''

Nyssa was backed into the stone corner of her cell. Slowly, Sara finally took a step forwards, and reached out— brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Nyssa didn't move, but shut her eyes in a futile effort to mask the pain emerging from her cold dead heart, remembering Sara's touch, relishing the forbidden feeling that she denied herself of having for so long. The god-awful betraying _tears_ started to form, but she refused to let them fall.

Sara chuckled sadly. ''The murderers I detain kill without reason. You kill because you had to, you kill because it's the _right thing to do_ , you kill because if anyone else was put in your shoes, they would've done the same. The people I apprehend have fucked up reasons to justify their killing. You don't need one. Besides, you can stop trying to scare me off, because the both of us very well know that _I will not leave you here._ It's either you leave with me, or you kill me.'' She gestured to the knife strapped on her belt. Unwaveringly, she unsheathed the blade and held it bottom-up by the hilt, extending her outstretched hand and gesturing for Nyssa to take it.

When Nyssa didn't respond, only staring at the blade in horror, Sara let out a pained, rueful smile as she sheathed her blade. ''You're better than all of them, and I don't want to see you _like this_. You deserve so much more than a trapped life in the League, so much more than being imprisoned in a dungeon for doing the _right thing_.''

''I _failed_ you, Sara.'' Nyssa was _crying_ now, the god-awful tears streaming down her face. ''Why won't you hate me? _Why can't you hate me?_ I let them use the Lazarus pit on _you_.'' Her voice cracked, and Sara felt a pit form in her stomach, swirling with sick. ''I-I didn't stop them. I-I  _failed_.'' Suddenly, her broken posture was regained, the redness hung in her eyes, but began to fade with every passing moment.

When she spoke again, the cracking in her voice was nowhere to be heard. Her voice was detached, cold as she won the battle of the raging emotions inside of her, face cloaked in a careful mask. ''I turned you into a _monster_. Instead of letting you die like you wanted, I bought you into a revolted and despised life of the League. I shrouded you into the darkness. I molded you into a killer, Sara.'' There was no distress nor waver in her words, no affection when she said her name, not even the regal authority of air that the Heir used. Only cold, harsh statements.

''I deserve this. Leave.''

Slowly, Sara shook her head. ''No, Nyssa. I'm not leaving you again. I'm never leaving you again. I _chose_ this life. You didn't introduce me to the darkness, Nyssa. You didn’t turn me into a killer— I was already one. Maybe you took me in against my own will, maybe you _did_ introduce me to a life in the League, maybe you  _do_ murder in cold-blood...'' She went for a pathetic smile. ''... but how could I love someone like that if they're so monstrous as you say?''

Nyssa was backing up against the wall now, the redness from her breakdown still evident in her wide eyes, her hands grasping at the stone walls— like a scared, cornered animal wanting to bolt. ''No. _Do not say that_. You do not feel love for me anymore. You are merely here because you feel guilt as you believe that I am in a cage because of you.'' She didn't know if Nyssa was trying to convince her or herself more.

Ignoring Nyssa's cold statement, Sara persisted. ''But you gave me a purpose in life. You showed me the _light_ , Nyssa.'' She could hear the stifling of a sob. She protectively moved forwards on instinct, closing the distance that was between them. ''But you don't deserve this. You deserve so much more than I, Ra's al Ghul or Malcolm Merlyn ever deserve. You deserve _happiness_ , Nyssa.'' She moved forward to brush the streak of a tear that had fallen from her eye.

Nyssa didn't relax against her touch. Her voice was soft, only the trace of hoarseness indicating her previous breakdown. ''… Do you truly believe that, _Ta-er al-Sahfer?''_

Sara didn't need to respond to know what Nyssa was thinking.

Nyssa's tone was hard. ''… Then you are naive.''

''You might not believe me,'' she began, letting out a sad chuckle— remembering every step, every movement— every knife and arrow and poison she's caused of Nyssa, words that had only broken her again when she thought she had healed, over and over. Her gaze locked on hers. ''But I still love you.''

Nyssa looked at her as if she punched her in the gut. Shook her head. Her tone was desperate, small, entirely unlike her previous, indifferent tone, pleading even. She had not once in her life seen Nyssa like this.''No, please… don't say that.''

She was afraid, Sara realized. Nyssa was never afraid. Not when she faced death, whenever a mission went south and there was no way out, choosing to embrace death acceptingly; not when she defied Ra's al Ghul or questioned his orders; not when others had challenged her for her title, not when Oliver and Malcolm stole her rightful title.

But she didn't know if that stayed true when she fell off the rooftop, three arrows penetrating her body and death embraced _her_. And then, Nyssa's life turned upside-down, the predetermined railroads she had set collapsing and falling apart like never before.

Nyssa was only afraid around Sara. And that was because she was opening up her heart, leaving herself vulnerable and unguarded. (And how could Sara blame her, when she broke her heart more times than she could ever count?)

Sara took a deep breath, and approached her. Their gazes were level (like how they've done a thousand times over). ''But… I've come to an understanding. We were never meant to be, in this timeline, in this lifetime, in this Earth.''

''Don't. _Please…_ ''

She pressed on. ''I love you, Nyssa. There's no other person in my life aside from you that I want to be with.''

_''Don't!''_

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry_. ''… But we were never meant to be. At least, not here. Maybe, somewhere, out there in the multitude of Earths and Timelines…’’ _But not here._

She heard the uncharacteristic, inhumane sobs that wracked the Heir. Nyssa didn't move on. She _couldn't_ move on, couldn't get over her. And when all she did was leave her, again and _again_... How could Sara stay, knowing that all she caused Nyssa was pain?

And Sara left the Demon's Heir again, in the midst of the dungeons and with a broken heart.

**Author's Note:**

> based off a comment somewhere...
> 
> yay, so i've done it :D
> 
> hope you liked!


End file.
